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consequences, Peregrine grabbed for it with both hands. His left briefly blocked
the other's wrist jarringly at the basket hilt, slowing it, but not with enough force
to keep his right hand from impacting solidly with the blade, right across the
palm and back edge of his hand. Searing pain flung him backwards against Adam,
rolling him into a tight ball as he clutched his right hand to his chest, fire searing
down his fingers and shooting up his forearm. All he could think, in that infinite
instant of first agony, was that he might never paint again.
But before he could even draw breath to scream, a heavy boot took him bruisingly
in the ribs, with enough force to tumble him farther across the rough shingle.
Somehow he managed to protect his head, and not to lose his glasses, but what he
saw as he twisted round gave him no comfort as his adversary turned to attack
Adam again.
Shouting wordlessly, his lips drawn back in an almost feline snarl, the
swordsman lifted his blade to slash. But as the blade descended, Adam was
already lifting his skean dubh - not with the hilt uppermost this time, but with the
point directed toward the air between them, to rapidly sketch an arcane symbol.
Blue fire left a visible trace as the skean dubh flashed. It was nowhere near the
intended path of the descending blade, but suddenly the sword was diverting to
meet it, like steel drawn to a magnet. White-eyed with disbelief, the swordsman
tried to correct, but Adam merely made a sharp, wrenching movement with the
skean dubh.
His adversary gave a hoarse cry as the basket-hilt twisted in his grasp. Unable to
hold onto it, he flung the weapon from him in defiant anger and turned to make a
desperate running leap for the side of the waiting speedboat.
He never reached it. Alert for just such an opening, the Faerie Host swooped
down again with greedy shrills of elation, blood spattering from their midst as
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they snapped and snarled and tore like piranhas in a feeding frenzy, keening their
triumph. Adam flung himself protectively across Peregrine, at the same time
closing his free hand around the hilt of the Hepburn Sword.
The two remaining men on the boat did not linger to see any more. They had
their chest aboard. Terrified, the man at the helm gunned the engines and swung
his craft around in a flurry of white water. Peregrine managed a dazed glimpse of
the vessel pulling away from the shore, but he bit back a sob as fire shot up his
right arm again from his wounded hand.
Half a dozen yards away, the fairy cloud was lifting from a fading crimson smear
on the rocks, their keening almost deafening as they realized their foes were
escaping. A few tried to pursue the boat across the water, but they could not
maintain altitude and fell into the waves, perishing in high-pitched screams and
puffs of steam.
Peregrine stifled a little sob, dazedly cradling his hand against his chest, not
daring to open it for fear of what he might see. He was still wearing Adam's ring,
but dark blood was welling between his fingers, dripping onto the wet shingle of
the beach.
"Where's Noel?" Adam demanded, dragging Peregrine to his feet and looking
around worriedly. "Do you see Noel anywhere?"
"No, I - "
"Here, take this and stand back to back with me!" Adam said, handing him the
skean dubh. "They'll be coming after us next. Use the blade to cover yourself."
Even as he spoke, the shining emerald cloud yammered at the shoreline and then
converged upon them, borne on a piercing skirl of high-pitched fairy voices.
Numbly Peregrine raised the skean dubh as he had seen Adam do, though every
fiber of his being shrieked that it was hopeless& .
Meanwhile, up on the high ground to the right of the cave-mouth, McLeod stirred
groggily to find himself half-buried under earth and rubble. Somehow, his pistol
was still in his hand, but he had managed to lose his glasses.
He turned his attention down, to the beach. He could see no sign of the black-clad
shore party, but a greenish swarm of lightmotes was whirling angrily just at the
shore - and just beyond their reach, the speedboat was laboring desperately,
trying to make headway against the dark chop of the loch. He could make out two
black-clad figures in it.
Scrambling to one knee and locking into a combat stance, McLeod took careful
aim and squeezed off half a dozen rounds at the men in the boat, even though he
knew they were probably out of range. They were - but before he could even
begrudge them their escape, his attention was arrested by new movement by the
fairy column, now spiraling up from the water's edge - and swooping down on
two familiar figures standing back to back at the shore.
With a hoarse croak of dismay, McLeod launched himself down the slope,
skidding on his butt and barely getting his feet under him as he hit the bottom.
He was already in motion as he staggered to his feet and started toward them -
and nearly tripped over the smashed frame of the Fairy Flag.
Intention sprang into his mind even as his body already was moving in response.
Jamming his pistol back into his waistband, he bent over the Flag, in its shattered
glass. No doubt assailed him, for he was a MacLeod - and he had not seen the
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flag-bearer perish for his presumption. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]